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Taking Cloud into an empty stall, the girl swore she would never let her guard down again. Better to disappoint Numair in her studies than to run wild and lose the friendships and respect she had found in this new country.
She was almost done with Cloud when Onua came into the stable. “There you are. Did Stefan bring our cart horse?”
Daine jerked a thumb at him. “His name’s Mangle.”
Onua grinned as the bay sniffed her pockets. “Is that so?” Looking at Daine as she fed the cob an apple, she asked, “Did you meet Stefan?”
The girl nodded. “Onua—about last night—I’m sorry.”
“For what?” The K’mir gave Mangle a last pat and went to see to her own two ponies. “Daine, your magic is taking you down a different road from most folk. Your friends understand that, if you don’t. Stop worrying so much.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Don’t thank me—get moving. We want to be assembled and ready to go when the first morning bell rings.”
Once she’d eaten a quick breakfast, Daine finished stowing the officers’ packs in the wagon, harnessed Mangle to it, and drove it to the flat area in front of the horse meadow gate where the Riders would assemble. The queen, Buri, Onua, and Sarge turned their spare mounts over to her to lead, so they would be free to range along the trainee column during the ride. The girl considered roping the three ponies and Sarge’s horse together for appearances’ sake and decided not to: all four mounts knew her well and promised to walk in their own column on one side of the wagon.
Alanna waved as she rode past on Darkmoon, going to wait with the queen. Daine grinned, knowing the Lioness would be more talkative after lunch.
She had started to wonder about Numair when several packs thudded into the back of the wagon. The mage rode up on a black-and-white gelding, looking tired. As if to prove it, once he stopped, he lay along his horse’s neck. “Wake me when we stop for lunch,” he said, and—to all appearances—went to sleep.
Daine looked at him, smiling. Dressed in a brown tunic, white shirt, and green breeches, he looked like the man she had known on the road to Corus, not the silk-clad friend of kings who’d been giving her lessons. The jeweled pins and rings he’d worn since his return to court were nowhere to be seen. The only hint of his apparent wealth was a large amber drop dangling from one earlobe.
Slowly twenty-three trainees assembled ahead of Daine in two columns, leading their spares on the outside. Each was inspected by the queen, Buri, Sarge, or Onua; some, including Farant and Selda, were sent to the barracks to lighten their packs. Four trainees, again including Selda, were sent back twice, this time with Sarge to harry them. Daine could hear his bellowed “Riders travel light!” when he was inside the barracks with his victims.
At last everyone was ready. Alanna and Buri took places on the left, Sarge and Onua on the right, outside the columns. Thayet rode to the head of the company, and Daine nudged Numair. He opened a bloodshot eye. “I think this is it,” she whispered. He nodded and straightened in the saddle.
It was. Thayet unsheathed her slightly curved blade and held it aloft. “Riders, move out!” she cried, her clear voice rippling through the columns, and started forward. The trainees followed, keeping the prescribed distance between their mounts as they took a well-marked road into the Royal Forest.
Daine’s skin quivered with goose bumps. “That’s fair beautiful,” she said to no one in particular. “Gi’ up, Mangle!” His ears pointing forward with eagerness, the cob obeyed.
The company stopped at noon for lunch. After cleanup, the trainees and officers switched mounts. Daine, her shame about the previous night put aside, tried not to smile when Numair asked if she minded if he rode with her. She agreed instantly. It was hard to be aloof from a man whose seat on a horse was so bad that he had to feel every bump in the road. Making friends with his patient gelding, Spots, she told the horse he deserved a carrot for bearing with such an ungraceful rider, and gave it to him.
Things went better during the afternoon: they picked up speed, covering some distance before camping for the night. Supper came from kettles that had been stowed in her wagon, their contents gently reheated over that night’s fires.
“Tomorrow you hunt for your meal,” Sarge warned as they filled their bowls with stew. “You’d best make less noise, my lambs, or you won’t eat.” Daine, settling between Miri and Evin, fought to hide a smile.
Returning to the fires after she had cleaned and put away her things, she was intercepted by Numair and led away from the trainees to an isolated clearing. “Lessons,” he said firmly. “As long as you and I are within riding distance of each other, my magelet, we will have lessons.”
She couldn’t protest, really. She knew the trainees were having lessons and, unlike them, she didn’t have the excuse of having fought two spirited ponies all day. With a sigh she took a seat on a nearby rock.
Numair put her book on another rock, where Cloud—who’d joined them—couldn’t nibble on it, and took a tailor’s seat next to Daine. He rubbed his large hands together. “Tonight we’ll try something a bit different. While you were washing up, I untethered Mangle and Spots. I want you to call them both to us, at the same time.”
“Why can’t I call them one at a time?”
“You’re being difficult,” was the forbidding reply.
“It don’t make sense.”
“Remember the Stormwing attack in the horse meadow? You called quite a few animals to you, all at once. You might need to do something like that again one day. Wouldn’t it be nice if—instead of calling entire herds—you only called enough horses to keep you safe?”
He had her there.
She found the copper thread in her mind, the one she wrapped around a call to an animal, and held it.
Mang
le—Spots, she called. Would you come here, please?
They crashed through the brush, coming up to nuzzle her and Numair.
“See? That wasn’t so bad,” he told her. “Send them back, please.”
With an apology and a short explanation to the horses, Daine obeyed.
Numair held up thumb and forefinger: between them sparkled a tiny ball of his magic. “Onua, now, if you please,” he said calmly. Putting thumb and forefinger together, he snuffed the ball out. “Our friend is releasing some of the other mounts,” he told Daine. “How many has she loosed?”
Daine listened—not with my ears, she reminded herself. “Spots and Mangle are still free. Onua’s loosed—let’s see, Ox and General, Sarge’s two horses, and her pair, Whisper and Silk, and also Darkmoon.”
“Call them,” Numair said.
She struggled with the calling magic. It only worked for one creature, or two at best, because all she did was focus the magic on an easy-to-hear mind. To call several minds, she had to open her mind to her surroundings. She tried it, and lost her concentration when an owl screeched overhead.
“Relax,” Numair said, his voice pitched low. “It gets easier with practice. Find them, and call them—softly. You don’t need too much.”
She nodded, wiped her face on her sleeve, and tried again. Closing her eyes, she listened for the ones who were free of their ropes. That was easy—a tethered horse was always aware of the thing that kept him from getting that extra-juicy clump of grass just out of reach. There—she had them. She opened the cupboard in her mind where she’d put all her calling skill. . . .
A scent of deer on the breeze; a frog croaking in the distance; the soft patter of bats hunting over-head. The herd was around her, contentedly browsing on lush, fat grasses that had been amazingly overlooked by the deer. Ox and General were with her, then Whisper, Silk, Spots, Mangle. Darkmoon, young and blood-proud, fought her command. She’d teach him to obey with teeth and hooves if need be, to give way to her domination—
She gasped and threw herself out of the magic. The herd had caught her up so much easier than last night! “I can’t,” she told Numair, her voice shaking. “My head aches.”
